They task you to get out there and go live ‘the life of your dreams.’
But they never specify. Which dreams?
Am I supposed to chase the grande castle-y dreams? The when-I-grow-ups and the one-day-I’s?
Probably.
But wat about all the little dreams I could go out and live?
The wispy dreams. So small you’d forget them easily but so much of them waft around in your mind, like candy floss?
Like warm feet and the smell of coffee when you come downstairs, only barely awake, still dark out.
Like bright colours in a salad or the deep rich brown of homemade chocolate cookies.
Like the weight of a sleeping cat on your lap, or waking up without an alarm clock on a Sunday.
Hot water lapping against a sore back.
The sound of rain pattering against a window.
A friend sitting at your kitchen table.
If I had known the pleasure of living the little dreams, these would have been the life of my dreams that I’d set out to live from the start.
